


A Study in Orchid

by lady_of_space



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Parenting, Character Study, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Coming Out, Depression, Dubious Consent, Emotional Baggage, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, Lesbian Character, Manipulative Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Daughter Relationship, POV Second Person, Purple Prose, Rose 'my IQ is ridiculous' Lalonde, Self-Harm, Social Isolation, Suicidal Thoughts, are you okay rose?, excessive use of adjectives, the DSM V is not appropriate reading material for a ten year old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_of_space/pseuds/lady_of_space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Alternately titled</i> "dearest darling rosie"</p><p> </p><p> rose & co. have issues</p><p> </p><p> [some basic character study through a humanstuck AU, will tag as i go]</p><p>[[discontinued because i have no motivation to write angsty rose, oops]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. game begins / age ten-eleven

There was a girl in the creative writing class that your mother signed you up for when you were a self-preoccupied ten year old, the literary weight of the world heavy on your prepubescent shoulders, the responsibility of repopulating libraries with your own text for the future generations usage daunting and grand. You remember stepping into the dusty college classroom and realizing immediately that you definitely were the youngest member enrolled, hands down, and that your beloved pink backpack with the cat buttons would have to be incinerated and replaced with a fashionable black purse as soon as you got home. Picking up the syllabus, you were struck with another notion of disdain for your mother as you acknowledged the cruel fact that this particular class was advertised in local papers for high school students who were in preparation for advanced placement literacy examinations. You wrinkled your nose and quietly disappeared into the back row of the seats, retrieving your spiral bound notebook and a single expensive pen from your backpack. 

Your teacher was cold and distant and you adored her immediately. She wouldn’t actually react noticeably to arrogant students who believed themselves to be the next Big Thing but would rather frown subtly at statements and ignore the imposing opinion throughout the remainder of the lesson, even when only they raised their hands. 

One of the Big Things was the girl with a mess of ridiculously untamed hair that flew around her face, a young gorgon in the making, not yet victim to the absurdities of vain goddesses who had been angered by their unbecoming brothers. She had pierced eyebrows on _both sides,_ something that tickled your childish sense of rebellion and enthused you endlessly, as well as green lipstick and flowing, overly elegant dresses. She chewed gum and blew enormous bubbles, popping them exactly when she wanted to irritate your teacher. Your allegiances were torn, but you were not yet aware of how to go about choosing sides. 

On the third day of the second week of the course, shortly after you read your completed Petrarchan sonnet detailing the woes of your flesh-cage, you saw her sitting next to another girl in another class during the break. You thought that she didn’t see you, but she turned suddenly and flashed an enormous white smile in your direction. “Hey, good work with that sonnet. Iambic pentameter is a bitch.” 

“Indubitably,” you said, surprised that she had actually uttered the word. _Bitch._ It tasted like pennies and expired cough syrup on your tongue, and you loved it. “I liked your verse about drowning in the Laundromat.” 

The girl sitting next to her burst out laughing. You hadn’t really noticed her before that point, but it wasn’t hard to, at least now. She had thick braids that fell down her back, twin snakes curling around her sides and tied up with a variety of interesting amalgamations found in beauty supply stores far and wide. Her sunglasses were obnoxiously pink and shaped like hearts, and there was too much jewelry for your liking covering her arms and neck. “You _actually_ finished that?” she asked, punching her friend in the arm. “Damn, I thought you were just kidding with that shit!” 

“Meenah, I adore your efforts to discombobulate our guest, but please refrain some such idiotic banter,” smiled the girl in your class, turning her attention fully to you. “I don’t think we’ve had a formal introduction. I’m Porrim. Are you a freshman?” 

You don’t really remember what you said next, a few dumb stutters, maybe even a lie, but after that, Porrim quickly let you into her ranks. There was her and Meenah and a variety of other shining young minds, but you were ten and felt the summer creep endlessly until late August, when the class ended and you were busy deciding which classes you would take in the sixth grade. You didn’t really see Porrim after that, but she would occasionally email you with little updates about her increasingly obscure pursuits in a variety of interests as well as her growing issues with her family. You never met them in person, but you knew that she and her younger sister had been raised by their aunt, who was strict and always was doing something mysterious behind closed doors. You were envious of such an enigmatic figure--after all, your own mother busied herself with an endless rampage of paperwork and strawberry daiquiris that she downed like they were nothing at all, leaving her personal laptop logged out of habit; a perfect invitation to observe her dating profile on Single Parents Meet Dot Com. 

Most of the time you sabotaged any potential romances with use of the block feature, but during an ill planned trip to see your godmother and _her_ daughter, your mother betrayed her lackadaisical attitude and not only _messaged_ another user but set up a _blind date_ with him. After that, her account was always locked and you realized with abject horror that she seemed to be incredibly enthusiastic about everything to an even more soul decimating degree. Such a tragedy festered for two weeks before you broke down and emailed Porrim in hopes for some kind of advice. You were met, however, with the unsatisfying replacement of her younger sister and several awkward moments on video chat before you slammed your computer shut and sobbed into your pillow. 

Shortly after your eleventh birthday, you were dragged by your mother into a restaurant where you met a certain Egbert and Son. Both were immediately regarded with disdain, seeing as the father was (actually) a very viable suitor for your mom, and the son was incredibly and almost aggressively friendly. You weren’t sure what his motive was, but you met his front with distrust and caution of the highest bar before ordering a small black coffee and two slices of dry toast. “Rose,” your mother said, smiling tightly as she gestured at the menu. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” 

You raised your eyes to hers and sighed with the air of an aged actress, longing for something melodramatic to occur on the screen rather than your own pitiful life. “I wish for self respect,” you said before sprinkling a pinch of Splenda into the tiny cup. The waitress seemed to be intrigued, and Mr. Egbert gave you a slightly worried glance before you picked up your toast. 

During the drive home, your mother didn’t speak to you until you were well out of town and back down the winding trail to your house. “God fucking damn it, Rosie,” she said, pulling over and turning off the car completely. “Can you please just _try_ to act like you’re happy?” 

You stared out of the window, saw the pine trees winding upwards, their branches spindling like monster limbs towards the sky. You hadn’t been necessarily sad, but if it infuriated your mother, it was hard to resist the temptation. “Why _should_ I be?” you hissed, biting your nails ragged and licking the blood off of your chapped lips. She didn’t know _anything_. “It’s not like you’re helping my case.” 

Your mother glared at you, eyes wet, as she turned back to the wheel and slammed her high heel onto the gas. 

* * *

They married in February. 

* * *


	2. it's not gay if you don't do anything

\--tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 23:32--

TT: Strider, are you awake? 

TT: Forgive me for the stupidity of that inquiry, but I feel as though you desire some sort of pre-contextual amusement to fawn over while I feverishly await your response. 

TG: wtf rose 

TG: youre doing the thing again 

TT: What ‘thing’? 

TG: youre basically overdoing the verbose poetic shtick enigmatic persona 

TG: i totally understand why but still its fucking 11 and i have actual things to do 

TT: That’s definitely an interesting concept. 

TT: What, if I dare ask, could these things involve? 

TG: dude 

TG: tomorrow is the first day of school

Your fingers freezed over the keyboard, your brain computing and then realizing the sheer gravity of Dave’s statement. You hadn’t really paid much attention that summer to the passing of time, as you were mostly preoccupied with avoiding your mother and stepfather. John had been off at some atrocious summer camp for fine arts, and sure, he had gotten back a few days ago, but you had absolutely no idea that it was the end of August _already._

TT: I was referring to things that weren’t mandated by the government, Dave. 

TG: jfc rose just take some melatonin and pass out 

TG: i need to get there early to figure shit out 

TT: Lame. 

TG: stfu 

TT: How juvenile.

Strider logged off, and you tried to calm down before skimming through your Facebook newsfeed for the eleventh time in thirty minutes. None of your pals (who you actually chose to hang out with) were online, but there _were_ two active members. 

TT: Hey, Roxy. 

TG: heyyy rose! 

TG: where have you been girlfriend? 

You already were drowning in regret for initiating a conversation with your ‘cousin’, but you swallowed and soldiered through. 

TT: I’ve been a bit preoccupied dealing with Mother, but not much else. I 

TT: I’m not actually sure what I’ve even done this summer. 

TG: kiddo youre not even 14 

TG: are you already blacking out bc i do NOT condone that behavior 

TT: No! I don’t drink! 

TG: GOOD 

TG: that shit is for ADULTS 

TT: ...need I mention that you’re sixteen? 

TG: ok that is besides the point which is my valid 1000% concern for your wellbeing 

Oh, god. 

Every single fucking time you tried talking to Roxy that summer, she tried to get you to go outside or go to parties or just...exist outside of your comfort zone. Needless to say, you were pretty annoyed. 

TT: You don’t need to be concerned for me, Roxy. 

TG: w/e 

TG: ily all the same fam 

TT: I know. 

You glanced at the clock in the lower righthand corner of your screen. It was 2:30 in the morning. You had school at 7. 

Whatever. 

TG: oh em GEE i totally forgot 

TG: youre freshmeat now hfs 

TG: rosies growing up 

TT: It’s not a big deal. I’ll just have to push through the public school system until I die of mental exertion. 

TG: dude lmfao 

TG: well i gtg bc fwb #1 is sending me some LUSCIOUS dickpics 

TG: byyeee

You blinked and curled up under your covers. This was too much. 

* * *

First period was biology, which you wanted to sleep through. You didn’t know anyone in your first three classes, and you made the conscious effort to not say anything that could be perceived as ridiculous while you placed your syllabi into the according folders. Nobody acknowledged you and it was _wonderful_. 

Fourth period proved to be interesting. 

You never were one for home economics of any kind, but it was a mandatory class. You slid into your seat and tried to be invisible as the teacher began to drone on about how this class would give you the knowledge that you would need to actually make semi decent food as an adult, which humored you because who _actually_ knew if you would even live that long. Zoning out, you began to trace the interior of the classroom with your mind before realizing that you were indeed being stared at and by a rather familiar face, at that. 

Kanaya Maryam was still Porrim’s younger sister and she was still marred by the fact that she was the same age as you, but she had grown taller and had more curves and blushed slightly when she caught your gaze before looking away while fluttering her long eyelashes. Your heart suddenly felt completely ignorant of all previous woes and anxieties and you swallowed, blinking as you, too, reverted your eyes to anywhere in the room _but_ her. However, you couldn’t simply ignore the way her nails were painted with a dark, sparkling blue polish that had begun to chip, or how her plaid skirt needed to constantly be adjusted, even when she was absolutely still. By the end of the class, you had learned nothing about cooking, but you were willing to do so if it meant you could be partners in a group project with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been super busy and dead but i really like this fic


End file.
